


don't go far off, not even for a day

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is in dire need of a boyfriend. Luckily he can convince Combeferre to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't go far off, not even for a day

When Courfeyrac arrived at the Musain, the meeting there was already coming to an end. Enjolras, Combeferre and Grantaire were the only ones still there, all of them staring at him when he entered.

He’d made an effort to arrive on time. Really. Then he’d fucked up. He’d fucked up big time.

He sank into the empty chair between Combeferre and Enjolras with a groan. “I fucked up,” he whispered, banging his head on the table.

“Have you checked your phone in the last hour?” Combeferre asked lowly.

Courfeyrac looked up, shaking his head. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found that he had about a hundred missed calls and a thousand unread text messages, all of them from his friends, asking where he was and if he’d make it to the meeting.

He groaned. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asked. “We talked about the– Ouch, what the hell was that for?”

“You can’t just ask him what happened and then talk about something completely different,” Grantaire muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned to Courfeyrac. “So, what happened?”

“I fucked up,” Courfeyrac said, throwing his arms in the air. “I fucked up so bad.”

“That explains nothing,” Grantaire said cheerfully.

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, sucking in a deep breath, “my grandma called.”

“Ohh,” Combeferre and Enjolras said simultaneously. Now, that was more like it.

“Oh?” Grantaire asked, his eyebrows raised.

“She talks a lot. I mean, a lot. She’ll talk for hours and not realize that it’s been hours, and don’t get me wrong, I love talking to my nan, she’s amazing, but she’s also incredibly worried about my wellbeing. Which is actually part of my problem.” He sighed and cast a longing glance at the half-eaten sandwich in front of Grantaire.

“And that problem would be?” Enjolras asked.

“I’ll tell you if you get Grantaire to give me the rest of his sandwich.”

Grantaire wordlessly pushed his sandwich across the table, looking at him expectantly.

“I told her that Marius moved in with Cosette and consequently doesn’t live in my spare bedroom anymore. And she asked, well, Michel, aren’t you bored all alone?” He took a bite of his newly acquired sandwich. “She sounded so worried. So worried. So I said, nah, it’s fine, my boyfriend keeps me company.” He let out a hysterical giggle. “My boyfriend. Do you see where I went wrong?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Exactly, Enjolras, that’s exactly what my problem is. Do you want to know what makes it even worse? She wants to meet him. My boyfriend. The one that I don’t have.”

“Tell her you broke up,” Grantaire suggested with a shrug.

“And disappoint my grandma? How cold-hearted do you think I am?”

“When is she coming to meet him?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“On Saturday two weeks from now. Which means I have fifteen days to find a boyfriend. Where do I get a boyfriend?”

“You of all people shouldn’t have trouble finding a boyfriend,” Grantaire said.

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “I need someone who hasn’t been my boyfriend for only two weeks, I need someone I’ve known for longer than that.” Courfeyrac looked around the table, thinking. “Oh, I just had a brilliant idea. One of you guys has to do it.”

“Do what exactly?” Enjolras asked, his voice dangerously low. It was the kind of tone he always used before he started yelling at one thing or another.

“One of you guys has to be my boyfriend. Just for one day. Like… a fake boyfriend. To make my grandma happy.”

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire said with a snort.

“Come on, Grantaire, you’d make a perfect boyfriend. You’re creative and smart and you’re a fantastic cook. I’d definitely go out with someone who’s a good cook.”

“No,” Enjolras said lowly. “I think that’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” Courfeyrac asked. Well, he knew exactly why, it was because Enjolras had a massive crush on Grantaire and didn’t want him to be anyone’s boyfriend but his own – fake or not.

Grantaire frowned, first at Enjolras, then at Courfeyrac. “No, he’s right, that’s a horrible idea. You should find someone else.”

Enjolras nodded, smiling at Grantaire, who blushed a little in return. It was sickening to watch. Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Well, if Grantaire’s not gonna do it, who will?” He looked at Enjolras, who immediately shook his head. Then he turned to Combeferre, who’d been keeping suspiciously quiet. “’Ferre?”

“I really don’t think I should get involved in this,” Combeferre said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Please, Combeferre, please help me out, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll help you sort your books alphabetically, I’ll watch moth documentaries with you, if that’s a thing that exists, I’ll-”

Combeferre sighed. “Courf, really, do you think this is a good idea?”

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” Courfeyrac said. Nothing could go wrong. His grandma would totally buy it. Everything would be fine.

* * *

“So, how are we gonna do this?” Courfeyrac asked, peering over Combeferre’s shoulder.

He was sitting at their usual table in the back of the Musain, three books open in front of him, his glasses sliding down his nose like they always did. Courfeyrac’s heart warmed at the sight of him.

Combeferre looked up, closing one of his books to make space for Courfeyrac’s cup of coffee. “You still want me to pretend that I’m your boyfriend?”

“Just for a day,” Courfeyrac said, sticking out his lower lip. “Not even a whole day. Just lunch with my grandma. You don’t have to do anything. Just eat with us and be your charming self. Maybe hold my hand for a couple of seconds. It won’t be a big deal.”

Combeferre gave him a stern look. “I’m really not sure about this.”

“Please, ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac whispered. “Help me out here. Make an old lady happy.”

“I didn’t realize you were an old lady,” Combeferre mused and started packing up his books.

“You’re so funny,” Courfeyrac said, nudging Combeferre’s foot under the table, “you’re hilarious, really, you should be a comedian.”

Combeferre sighed. “Just lunch?” he asked, and Courfeyrac knew he had won.

“Just lunch,” Courfeyrac confirmed.

“Fine,” Combeferre said, “although I do feel bad about lying to your grandma.”

“Well, you’re definitely not the only one.”

* * *

Courfeyrac hadn’t thought this through.

He’d thought it would be easy. Combeferre would go out for lunch with him and his grandma, maybe they’d hold hands, maybe he’d give Combeferre a kiss on the cheek, they’d tell her some funny stories, and everything would be okay.

Except that nothing would ever be okay.

Courfeyrac had gone home after their meeting at the Musain, the one he technically hadn’t been there for, and he’d been delighted, because everything was going so well. Then he’d gone to bed and had started thinking about it. It had been a week and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since.

He’d thought about what it meant to be someone’s boyfriend. He’d thought about what he needed to do to convince his grandma. He’d thought about Marius and Cosette.

Marius had a picture of himself and Cosette set as his phone background. Courfeyrac wanted to do the same, but then realized that he’d done exactly that about a year ago. He had photos of him and Combeferre scattered all over his apartment, there were two of Combeferre’s books lying around in his living room, hell, he even had one of his stupid sweater vests lying around somewhere in his closet.

They met for lunch every Tuesday. They went to the movies together all the time, they cuddled on his sofa and watched documentaries about dinosaurs followed by children’s movies about dinosaurs, Combeferre cooked him dinner every now and then, sometimes, when Courfeyrac had a bad day, he went to Combeferre’s and stayed the night, curled up in his bed.

They did all the things that people in relationships did. It was like they were in an unofficial relationship already. This was bad. Really, really bad.

On Saturday morning, when he gave up on willing himself to go back to sleep, he pulled on clothes at random and walked over to Grantaire’s, since his apartment was closest. Well, except for Cosette’s, but, as much as he loved Marius and Cosette, he really didn’t feel like dealing with a happy couple right now.

“I need to ask you something,” Courfeyrac said to a grumpy-looking, bleary-eyed Grantaire as soon as he opened the door after Courfeyrac had rung the doorbell for about five minutes straight. “And be honest with me.”

He stepped inside, not waiting for Grantaire to invite him in. Grantaire followed him to the couch, glaring daggers at him, but managing to look somewhat worried at the same time.

Courfeyrac looked around Grantaire’s apartment. It was strangely tidy. There were no empty bottles, no pizza cartons, no sketches lying around. It was somewhat unsettling.

“Courf, it’s half past seven in the morning, please, for the love of fuck, just tell me what you want so I can go back to bed,” Grantaire grumbled.

“Have I been dating Combeferre?”

Grantaire looked like he was completely awake all of a sudden. “What.”

“You know, I thought about this… thing. And I’ve been spending a lot of time with him. I went out with him. Not on official dates, but, you know, they could have been dates. I could have been dating Combeferre all this time.”

Grantaire groaned. “How did you not notice that?” he asked. “Seriously, you two are like a married couple.”

“But we’re just friends, I simply didn’t realize,” Courfeyrac whined. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Wait, how does that change things?” Grantaire asked, his eyebrows raised. “Doesn’t that make things easier for you? You know, the whole _let’s pretend we’re going out_ thing. You won’t even have to pretend. Not really, anyway.”

“But this changes everything,” Courfeyrac whined. “ _Everything_.” He liked spending time with Combeferre, he loved him, he was one of his best and closest friends, he was always there for him when he needed him – what if he was in love with Combeferre? What if he was in love with him and hadn’t even realized? He couldn’t do this. “Oh my god, I have to blow this off.”

“And then you’re gonna find yourself another fake boyfriend? You only have a week left.”

“I don’t know, is there some kind of precedent for this, have you ever asked someone to fake-date you, even though were friend-dating them already and then realized that you might want to real-date them?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Grantaire said slowly. “Just… ask him out? On a real date, I mean.”

“I can’t ask him out, you were there last week, he didn’t even want to fake-date me,” Courfeyrac said. He was in such deep shit. “This is so inconvenient. I can never look at Combeferre again.”

“Now you’re just being overdramatic,” Grantaire grumbled and whacked a pillow over his head.

“No, but I thought about holding his hand this morning and now I can’t stop, what if he holds my hand because he’s being a good fake boyfriend and then my palms get all sweaty because I get nervous because I like it when he holds my hand?”

“This is ridiculous as fuck.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Courfeyrac asked gruffly. “Anyway, he’s coming over tomorrow night so we can talk things through. Shit, this was a horrible idea.”

“Yeah, I think we should have told you that it was the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Grantaire said.

Courfeyrac stuck out his tongue at him and proceeded to bury himself under a pile of pillows.

“What are you doing? You can’t stay. I want to go back to bed.”

“Shut up, this is a crisis.”

* * *

It wasn’t like Courfeyrac had never noticed that Combeferre was handsome.  It was a simple fact. Combeferre was incredibly handsome and Courfeyrac had always been surprised that there weren’t people lining up to date him.

It was an objective observation.

He had nice hands, slender fingers, which were now curled around a cup of tea. Courfeyrac couldn’t stop staring.

“Is everything okay?” Combeferre asked. “You seem distracted.”

“No, it’s fine, I was just thinking… about what we should tell my grandma. About how we got together.”

Combeferre nodded. He took off his glasses and started cleaning them with his sleeve. It was endearing. And it was killing Courfeyrac.

How had he never noticed all these things? Well, he had. He had but he’d brushed it off. Because this was Combeferre. Whom he’d known since kindergarten. They’d baked mud pies together. Combeferre, who’d caught a frog for Courfeyrac on his fifth birthday. Combeferre, who’d never made fun of him for not being as good at reading as all the other kids, who’d sat down with him and had read his favorite book together with him. Combeferre, who’d always been there for him when he’d whined about his stupid crushes.

“Courf, you’re staring, do I have something on my face?”

“No, your face is fine, it’s great.”

Combeferre put his glasses back on, frowning. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, then?”

“We should go out on a date.”

Combeferre looked at him wide-eyed for a few seconds before he pulled himself together. “Why?”

Yeah, that really wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. “Well, we can’t really fake-date if we’ve never been on a fake-date,” Courfeyrac said , realizing that it was an incredibly lame excuse, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment.

“I’d argue that we can, but if you insist…” Combeferre shrugged. “Are you free tomorrow evening?”

Courfeyrac nodded eagerly. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

* * *

This had been a horrible idea.

Courfeyrac was nervous. More than he’d ever been in his entire life.

Usually he’d call Combeferre right now. He’d whine about it for ages and Combeferre would listen and then he’d tell him that everything was going to be fine and that he had no reason to freak out about something as silly as a date.

Courfeyrac had gone on hundreds of dates, most of which had ended with him in a virtual stranger’s bed, some of them had resulted in relationships, some of them had been downright terrible.

They’d mostly been fun, though. And if they hadn’t been, well, at least then he’d had a funny story to tell afterwards.

But this date with Combeferre – it wasn’t fun.

Everything was wrong. They’d decided to go out for dinner, since they’d both wanted to try the new Chinese place that had opened down the street from Combeferre’s apartment and it had turned out to be the most terrible Chinese restaurant in the city.

They had nothing to talk about either, except for the horrible food they were eating, then Courfeyrac knocked over his water, drenching not only the tablecloth but also himself, and even though Combeferre did his best to be polite and pleasant, Courfeyrac could tell that he definitely didn’t want to be here with him right now.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Courfeyrac muttered when they were on their way back to Combeferre’s apartment.

Combeferre smiled at him and nudged his side. “It was only a _fake_ date after all.”

“I wanted it to be a good fake date, though,” Courfeyrac grumbled. If he was honest with himself he’d actually wanted it to be a real, actual date. But he could hardly say that, could he? “Do you want to watch a movie and eat a lot of popcorn so we can forget about having dinner at the worst restaurant this world has ever seen?”

“I actually have to get up early tomorrow,” Combeferre said lowly. “But I’ll see you at the Musain.”

“Right, yeah, goodnight ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac muttered, trying to smile when Combeferre squeezed his shoulder before he went to unlock the door and vanished into his apartment building.

Courfeyrac sighed, stared at the closed door for a few long seconds and eventually trotted off towards the bus stop. He’d fucked up. He didn’t know how and why, but he’d _definitely_ fucked up.

* * *

Courfeyrac didn’t understand anything anymore.

On Wednesday night most of them had gathered at the Corinthe, just to catch up and to have a couple of drinks. To his immense surprise, Enjolras had showed up, even though he’d spent most of the time talking to Combeferre back in a corner, looking up every now and then when loud laughter erupted at Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet’s table.

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, had taken to watching them, trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about and to convince himself that he definitely wasn’t jealous of Enjolras because he got to talk to Combeferre. Instead he took to moping because Combeferre apparently didn’t want to him.

Then Grantaire had left early, leaving Joly and Bossuet to discuss whether or not they should be worried since Grantaire usually was the last to leave, not the first.

Afterwards Enjolras and Combeferre had got up to leave as well, both of them saying they had assignments to work on, and even though Combeferre had smiled at Courfeyrac before he’d left, he still felt horrible. They hadn’t talked since Sunday night, except for a couple of texts here and there. Things had suddenly got incredibly awkward between them and Courfeyrac was sure that Combeferre was mad at him for roping him into this, he knew he shouldn’t have pushed him when he’d said he didn’t want to get involved, since it obviously made him uncomfortable, but usually Combeferre would just _say so_.

Courfeyrac could still call it off. He could call his grandma and tell her that he’d lied, he could come clean, he could apologize to Combeferre.

He just wasn’t sure if that would be enough to make things go back to normal.

Courfeyrac listened to Joly and Bossuet prattle on about one thing or another, only hearing half of what they were saying anyway. He soon said goodnight to them, telling them he wasn’t feeling well, which was only half a lie, and Joly even offered to walk him home and make him some soup, but Courfeyrac declined, promising he’d let them know if he needed anything.

He was already halfway on the way to his apartment when he decided that he really, really needed a hug. Or maybe five hugs. And since Combeferre probably wasn’t available for that at the moment, Enjolras had to do for now.

He wouldn’t be happy about Courfeyrac barging in when he actually had work to do and he was the most awkward hugger on this planet, except for Marius maybe, but Courfeyrac had no doubt that Enjolras would make time for him anyway.

For a second he thought that Enjolras might not be home yet, that he might have gone back to Combeferre’s, since he didn’t answer the door at first, but then he remembered that he’d seen the lights on in his living room window, so he _had_ to be home.

“Enjolras, come on, I know you’re there,” Courfeyrac called and knocked again. “Please, Enjolras.”

He could hear footsteps, then the door opened, revealing a disheveled-looking Enjolras. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on top of his laptop. I wouldn’t be the first time. “Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, trying in vain to smooth down his hair.

“Please give me a hug,” Courfeyrac said, taking a step towards Enjolras, who immediately pulled him against his chest.

“Did something happen?” Enjolras mumbled, slowly patting Courfeyrac’s back, unsure where to put his hands as always.

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile, because he did love Enjolras’ awkward hugs. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Enjolras said, pulling away and letting Courfeyrac step inside. Courfeyrac automatically walked towards the living room door, but Enjolras caught him by the elbow. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen, the living room’s a mess.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at him. “Isn’t it always?” he asked and walked inside, noting that it actually wasn’t that much of a mess. “It’s really not that bad.” His eyes fell on the coffee table, on which there were two empty plates and two empty cups. A movie was paused on TV.

Enjolras only looked at him, then at the table, then back at him, keeping suspiciously quiet.

“Am I…” Courfeyrac cleared his throat, his mind racing. “Am I interrupting something?” Combeferre and Enjolras had left together. They’d probably come here afterwards, saying they both had to do assignments, but Combeferre was probably here, Combeferre was secretly dating Enjolras, that was what was going on here.

“No, I’m alone,” Enjolras said quickly. “Do you want to sit down?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Are you _sure_?” he asked, looking around the room, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here.

“For fuck’s sake, Enjolras, just tell him what’s going on so I can stop hiding behind your goddamned couch,” Grantaire’s voice piped up.

Enjolras let out a strangled giggle. “Right, um, Grantaire’s here?”

“And why is Grantaire behind your couch?” Courfeyrac asked, watching with wide eyes as Grantaire emerged from his previous hiding place.

“Well…” Enjolras said, and that was really it.

“We’re sort of dating,” Grantaire said lowly, scratching his head.

“You’re secretly dating _Grantaire_ ,” Courfeyrac mumbled. Not Combeferre, of course it wasn’t Combeferre, Enjolras had only had eyes for Grantaire for the past year or so, so Courfeyrac wasn’t exactly surprised. What he mostly felt, though, was relief. He laughed. “Oh my god, since when?”

“A couple of weeks,” Enjolras said, his voice quiet. “We weren’t going to tell anyone for a while.”

“Holy shit,” Courfeyrac muttered and went to sit down next to Grantaire.

“You know, you nearly caught us last weekend when you went to Grantaire’s,” Enjolras told him and took a seat as well.

“You were there?” Courfeyrac asked, then he turned to Grantaire. “ _He_ was _there_?”

“I might have heard what you said, too,” Enjolras said. “About Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac whined. “I’m so fucked, Enjolras, he hates me and I don’t know what to do, I’ve argued with Combeferre before, but at least I always knew what it was about, and now he won’t talk to me and I don’t know what to do, I mean, is it really so bad to be my boyfriend for just one or two hours, we’ve been friends for so long and, sure, maybe it was a bad idea to lie to my grandma, maybe it was the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I still don’t get it.” Courfeyrac took a deep breath. “I just don’t get it. Normally he’d just tell me that I’m being an idiot and that I should probably stop doing whatever I’m doing, but now he’s just _not saying anything_ and that’s even worse.”

Enjolras only blinked at him, quite obviously not sure what to say to him.

“I think I’m gonna go… make coffee or something,” Grantaire mumbled and slipped out of the room before anyone could stop him.

Enjolras smiled as he watched him leave and Courfeyrac whined again. “How the hell do you guys have your shit together and I don’t?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Enjolras asked, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac grumbled. “Tell me what to do about ‘Ferre, you’ve known him about fifteen minutes longer than me, you guys talk about everything, did he say anything to you?”

“He didn’t,” Enjolras replied a little too quickly.

“You are a horrible liar,” Courfeyrac said and nudged him. “Come on, I need your help here.”

Enjolras sighed. “He might have said something,” he said reluctantly, “but I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you.”

“See,” Courfeyrac said, “since when don’t we tell each other everything anymore? We never really had secrets.”

“I was going to tell you about Grantaire.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Courfeyrac muttered. “But thanks.”

“You should go talk to Combeferre.”

“Well, he quite obviously doesn’t _want_ to talk to me. He’s been avoiding me since Sunday night.”

Enjolras hummed. “What happened on Sunday?” he asked, even though he sounded like he actually knew already.

“We went out on a date. A fake date, because I thought, oh well, if we’re gonna be fake boyfriends, then maybe we should go out on a fake date. And it was a fucking disaster. It was even worse than the one where that guy kept talking about how great George W. Bush’s policies were. Seriously, Enjolras, I wanted to cry. I still want to cry.”

“But it was only a fake date, right?”

“Of course it was fake, or that’s what I said to Combeferre, the point is, I didn’t want it to be fake, I wanted it to be real, but if it had been a real date, I would have realized that things would never work out between us.”

“So, you really are in love with Combeferre,” Enjolras mused, smiling all of a sudden.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, were you even listening,” Courfeyrac said gruffly. “Anyway,” he continued, “I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. I’m gonna go, so Grantaire doesn’t have to pretend to make coffee anymore.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Enjolras asked, reaching out to take his hand. “Grantaire won’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine, really.” Courfeyrac scrambled to his feet and made his way to the door, briefly waving at Grantaire, who was sitting in the kitchen with Enjolras’ cat in his lap, on his way out.

“Promise you’ll talk to Combeferre,” Enjolras said and gave him another one of his awkward hugs.

“Sure,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

* * *

Courfeyrac spent the whole meeting on Friday nervously jiggling his leg until Combeferre gave him a look and put his hand on his thigh. It was probably meant to calm him down, but all it did was make him even more nervous.

He’d texted Combeferre earlier, asking him if they could talk after the meeting and Combeferre had replied that that was fine with him. When he’d come to the Musain together with Enjolras, the two of them had sat down on either side of him, like they always had. Maybe he hadn’t fucked up things completely.

He barely listened to what Feuilly was saying, barely realized when the meeting was over.

It was only when Enjolras stood up and went to sit down next to Grantaire and Feuilly and Bahorel loudly said goodbye to everyone that he noticed that the official part of the meeting had come to an end.

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “Is it okay if I walk you home?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s alright,” Combeferre said and reached for his coat. “I assume you want to talk about tomorrow,” he added once they were outside.

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I just wanted to ask you… I mean, are you sure we should do this?”

“I guess it’s too late to back out now,” Combeferre said, smiling down at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t stand you up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, that’s not it.” Courfeyrac looked over at Combeferre, who was staring straight ahead. On a different night Courfeyrac might have hooked his arm around Combeferre’s, but today he felt like he couldn’t. “It’s just that we barely talked all week…”

“I was busy,” Combeferre said. “That had nothing to do with you.”

And maybe it was true, maybe Courfeyrac was just overreacting because he’d figured out that he was actually in love with one of his best friends. “Right, I know,” he said eventually.

They walked on in silence and Courfeyrac felt reminded of that terrible Sunday evening nearly one week ago. He didn’t know what exactly felt so unsettling to him about this, since Combeferre actually didn’t behave any differently than he usually did, but to Courfeyrac it still felt like something important had changed between them.

When they’d made it to Combeferre’s apartment Courfeyrac hugged him goodnight, and if he held on a little longer and a little more tightly than usual, then hopefully Combeferre didn’t notice.

* * *

Combeferre kept his promise. He showed up on time, as always, and Courfeyrac’s grandmother absolutely adored him, which made things even worse for Courfeyrac, because at some point he’d have to tell her that he’d broken up with him.

But yes, all in all everything went perfectly well. Combeferre answered each and every one of his grandma’s question with a smile on his face, reached for Courfeyrac’s hand to squeeze it every now and again, making Courfeyrac want to smack his head against a wall more than anything else.

“And how did you boys meet?” his grandma asked, looking from Combeferre to Courfeyrac. “You’ve known each other for a while, haven’t you?”

“Why don’t you answer that,” Combeferre said lowly, squeezing Courfeyrac’s hand again.

Courfeyrac squeezed it back with a little more force than strictly necessary. They should have talked about this beforehand. Now he had to make something up and he had no idea what to say. “Well,” he started, staring down at their joined hands, “we’ve known each other since kindergarten, actually.”

“Ah, yes.” His grandmother nodded, smiling. “I remember, didn’t you boys always play up in the attic with your other friend, what’s his name again, dear?”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre prompted.

“Of course, how could I forget. You were lovely kids, all three of you.” She smiled, still nodding to herself. “Now, how did you two get together, then?”

“I, um… I just realized that I really liked Combeferre,” Courfeyrac mumbled. It wasn’t even a lie. It was just that he hadn’t figured it out until approximately two weeks ago. “So I asked Combeferre out. And he said yes. And here we are,” he finished quickly.

Combeferre nodded. “I’m afraid it’s not a very exciting story,” he said when Courfeyrac’s grandma turned to him, probably waiting for him to confirm Courfeyrac’s story.

“Oh, that’s quite alright, dear, I’m just glad that Courfeyrac has finally found someone he’s deemed worthy to be introduced to me,” she said, giving Courfeyrac a look. It was true, Courfeyrac had never introduced her to any of his boyfriends or girlfriends, simply because most of them had been gone from his life before he’d even had a change to mention them to her.

Courfeyrac managed to fake a smile and was glad when their conversation moved on to what and how Enjolras was doing.

Afterwards, Courfeyrac didn’t even get a chance to thank Combeferre, because his grandmother insisted on taking him shopping to buy gifts for his sisters and Combeferre insisted that he needed to go home to work on a paper he needed to hand in soon. Courfeyrac was certain that said paper actually didn’t exist, but he really didn’t want to keep him if he didn’t want to stay, so he only nodded when Combeferre said that he had to leave.

Combeferre got a kiss on the cheek from his grandma as way of saying goodbye and Courfeyrac got one from Combeferre, which probably surprised him more than anything else. It was also the reason why he couldn’t stop touching his own cheek all afternoon.

When he took his grandma to the train station in the evening, she handed him an envelope that quite possibly contained a considerable amount of money, telling him to take his boyfriend out on a nice date. Courfeyrac had long since learned that refusing presents from his grandmother was generally a bad idea, so he only thanked her profusely and promised that he would.

“Take good care of that boy,” she said with a wink. “He’s a keeper.”

* * *

Courfeyrac didn’t waste any time after that. Obviously the thought of going home and burying himself under a fluffy blanket to sulk was rather appealing, but that most definitely would have been the wrong choice.

He hopped on a bus, cursing every red traffic light, and almost ran all the way from the bus stop to Combeferre’s apartment. Once he’d made it up to Combeferre’s door, he was panting and his curls were sticking to his face and he was pretty sure that he was looking completely ridiculous – at least going by the amused look Combeferre had on his face when he opened the door for him.

Combeferre was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt from one of their rallies in their first year of university. Courfeyrac was pretty sure that it was the one where they’d all got arrested.

“Hello,” Combeferre said when Courfeyrac failed to utter any kind of greeting.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac breathed, tugging his fingers through his hair in attempt to make it look halfway decent.

Combeferre smiled at him expectantly, probably waiting for him to state the reason for his visit and maybe also for an explanation for why he looked like he’d just run a marathon, but Courfeyrac’s brain kind of short-circuited in that very moment and he took a step towards Combeferre, standing on his tiptoes to kiss him.

And _shit_ , this was wrong, he couldn’t just kiss Combeferre, not like this, you needed to ask permission for this sort of thing, but Combeferre’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer and then he was kissing him back, teeth scraping against his bottom lip, and Courfeyrac might have actually let out an incredibly embarrassing whimper at that. Combeferre’s fingers snuck into his hair and Courfeyrac remembered how to use his arms for long enough to put them around Combeferre’s neck, pulling them flush against each other.

They eventually had to break apart for air, but Courfeyrac refused to let go of Combeferre altogether, just to make sure he wouldn’t disappear all of a sudden.

“Is Joly home?” Courfeyrac whispered, his eyes never leaving Combeferre’s.

“He’s at Bossuet’s,” Combeferre replied, gripping him by the hips so he could pull him inside his apartment. Courfeyrac followed where he led, laughing when Combeferre closed the door by pushing him against it, kissing him again, chastely this time, before he pulled away, his forehead still resting against Courfeyrac’s. “I think we need to talk.”

Courfeyrac swallowed hard. He would have been okay with just kissing Combeferre for a while, a couple of hours maybe, before he had to explain why he’d showed up here out of the blue. And why he’d just kissed Combeferre instead of at least trying to form a proper sentence. “Okay, let’s talk.”

“Maybe we should sit down,” Combeferre said and tugged him into the living room, where Courfeyrac had to force himself to sit down next to Combeferre instead of just crawling into his lap. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

“You kissed me back,” Courfeyrac said, because that was really the only thing he was able to concentrate on right now. Combeferre had kissed him back.

“I did,” Combeferre said, “I was just wondering why you kissed me in the first place?”

Courfeyrac sighed, trying to find the right words. “Look, when I asked you to be my fake boyfriend, I didn’t realize I liked you this much. I had no idea I had feelings for you and I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but then I noticed and it was all I could think about and I just wanted it to be real. That fake date I took you on? I wanted it to be real. And when I introduced you to my grandma earlier and said hey, this is my boyfriend, Combeferre, I wanted you to be my real boyfriend. I want to go out on a real date with you and I want to go to a restaurant that doesn’t suck, maybe we can go to the Musain, because that’s where we’ve been going for ages and maybe I can kiss you again and maybe you can be my real, actual boyfriend, because _you kissed me back_.”

Combeferre looked at him with wide eyes for a couple of seconds, a couple of seconds too long for Courfeyrac’s taste, until he finally nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Yes,” Combeferre said. “To all of the above.”

Courfeyrac only let out a sigh of relief and decided that a tackle-hug was in order. He ended up with his face squished into Combeferre’s shirt and Combeferre’s fingers carding through his hair.

“I’m sorry about avoiding you last week,” Combeferre muttered after a while.

“So I wasn’t just imagining things, you were really avoiding me.”

Combeferre sighed. “Don’t think I didn’t feel terrible about it, but it made things easier.”

“What?”

“Look,” Combeferre said, pushing them into an upright position, “all these years I thought I’d never have a chance with you. And I was alright with it, I’d accepted it and then you wanted me to pretend to be your boyfriend all of a sudden and I… I didn’t want to get too used to the idea, I suppose.”

Courfeyrac bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Combeferre said, reaching out to cup Courfeyrac’s cheek, his thumb slowly trailing along his cheekbone. “I felt like a horrible friend and Enjolras kept telling me to talk to you and-”

“Ah, that’s what he said to me, too,” Courfeyrac said, smiling at the thought of Enjolras trying to push him in the right direction.

“Looks like he’s been busy giving advice,” Combeferre mused. “You’d think he’d have his hands full with Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Wait, you know about them?”

“Enjolras has had a picture of him and Grantaire as his phone wallpaper for weeks,” Combeferre said dryly. “I have no idea why he thinks that no one has noticed.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. “But you obviously didn’t notice, so how do you know?”

“I sort of ambushed him the other day and Grantaire was hiding behind his couch.”

Combeferre snorted. “Those two…”

“I know,” Courfeyrac said, grinning at Combeferre. “Maybe you could ask them if they want to go out on a double date with us.”

“We should take them to the awful Chinese place,” Combeferre suggested.

“That’s a fantastic idea, we shouldn’t have to suffer alone,” Courfeyrac agreed, nodding eagerly, squealing when Combeferre pulled him down on the couch again. “By the way,” he added, “I think my sisters want to meet my boyfriend as well.” He’d ignored them ever since they’d found out that he apparently had a boyfriend – of course they’d found out, news travelled fast in their family – but now that he really did have a boyfriend, he could probably promise them that they’d get to meet him soon without feeling guilty about it.

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Combeferre said and kissed the tip of his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a Neruda poem (because I'm bad at making up my own titles)


End file.
